


A Mute Bard Tells Dull Tales

by Excaliburinthelakeonpage394



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Caring, Curses, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Muteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22086460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excaliburinthelakeonpage394/pseuds/Excaliburinthelakeonpage394
Summary: Jaskier remained silent, squeezing his eyes shut as a few scared tears finally fell.-----Geraltwasn’thuman. Every being he ever met liked to remind him of that. And even though he’d adapted to live with humans, it hadn’t helped him understand them.-----The bard had never been so quiet for so long. Even when the Djinn took his voice, he’d still managed noises.-----This is set after the end of Season 1; Geralt hasn't seen Jaskier (Dandelion) in a few years - after finally finding Ciri, they had their destiny to fulfill, and of course, there was never an absence of monsters for the witcher to hunt. Jaskier's always attracted trouble, Geralt's absence won't change that.But can Geralt get him out ofthistrouble?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 98
Kudos: 1584





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a long time fan of the Witcher - books, games and now the show.  
> I was so pleased when Netflix didn't ruin the witcher series!(*cough* like they did with their Death Note *cough*) I think they actually did it some justice, and Henry Cavill did an incredible job of playing Geralt!
> 
> Enjoy!

Guilt near drowned Geralt, when his eyes fell on a familiar figure, tucked into the shadows of the castle walls. It seemed he was trying to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible - but Geralt was always good at spotting those who didn’t want to be seen. It had been years since Geralt had seen his friend; Ciri, monsters and Kaer Morhen had kept him busy.

Geralt wasn’t a being infected with human emotions, but... the only word, for the heavy feeling in his gut, was ‘guilt’. Guilt for not seeking his friend out sooner, for walking the continent without sparing a thought for how his friend was faring. Guilt, guilt,  _ guilt. _

Geralt stepped back into the shadows himself, wanting to watch him for a while. It was second nature to him, to observe and watch people. Listening and watching, rather than talking, often uncovered unknown secrets.

But Geralt had barely a chance to relax against the cold stone behind him, before three nasty looking individuals were approaching his friend. Before the witcher could navigate his way through the market and reach his friend, the group of men were dragging him out of sight.

Geralt swore to himself, continuing forward despite losing sight of them. When he reached where his friend had been lurking he saw signs of a make-shift bed and found another dagger of guilt, embedding itself in his gut.

Geralt heard a shout - too hushed for humans to hear over the bustle of the market - and slinked off around the same corner the four men had disappeared around. It took almost no effort to track them - would have been effort _ less _ , if it wasn’t market day. Geralt found the small alley the men had turned down and readied himself for an unpleasant talk. The alley was so narrow that Geralt filled it entirely, once he stood to his true height. The men were trapped.

“Come on, pretty boy,” he heard one of the men say, as he came to a turn in the alley, “we’ve been plenty patient enough. Even gave you an extra week to gather the coin for us.”

“But enough waiting,” another man snarled - Geralt rounded the corner to see him holding his friend’s torso off the ground, by the front of his shirt. “Give us the coin you owe!” The ugly fucker enforced his words by sending his fist into an already bloody and bruised face.

Geralt cleared his throat - absolutely  _ not _ enjoying the way all three thugs jumped - and stepped closer to the group. They were out of sight from any passers by, as the alley followed the house around a corner, finally coming to a dead end. “I’m sure there’s no need for that,” he grunted, almost nonchalantly.

The smallest of the three thugs sneered up at Geralt, “this ‘ere’s private business, clear off!”

Geralt ‘hmm’ed lowly. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. That there is my friend who you’re threatening.”

That made all three of them laugh uproariously.

“This little rat don’t have no friends,” the shorter man barked. “You’ve got the wrong freak, Witcher.” He spat out the term like it was an insult - like all humans did.

Geralt let his top lip rise in a smirk, baring his teeth like a wolf about to growl. “Takes a freak to know a freak. Let me take him off your hands and no more shall be said.”

The broadest thug snarled, almost possessively, from where he was still bent over Geralt’s friend. “He’s not for sale. This cock-sucker already has debts owed!”

Geralt shrugged, slipping his hand under his cloak to pull out his coin purse - not as heavy as he would have liked, but heavy enough. “I’ll pay his debts,” Geralt uttered, “unless you’d rather continue beating this obviously penniless man.”

The thugs blinked wearily, eyeing Geralt and his coin purse like either would bite their fingers off. Finally, the smallest thug stepped forward, a smirk on his face.

“Two thousand orens.”

Geralt snorted, “not even for a night with the queen.” Geralt pulled his cloak back, showing off the hilt of his sword, “we could settle this another way, if you’d rather. But that won’t end in your favour.”

The leader of these thugs huffed. Any coin was better than no coin… and they can’t spend it if they’re dead. Eventually, he held out his hand.

Geralt threw him the coin purse, and moved aside to let them pass. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

As soon as the thugs were gone, Geralt moved to his friend. “Jaskier…” he uttered, taking the man’s chin in his thumb and forefinger to access his wounds.

Jaskier remained silent, squeezing his eyes shut as a few scared tears finally fell.

Geralt hummed lowly. “You’ll live, they haven’t broken anything…” He took in the sight of his friend, letting relief ebb over him in slow waves. It eased the twinges of guilt, but only slightly. He really looked  _ awful.. _ . “Come on,” he said finally, pulling Jaskier to his feet.

But the bard didn’t move his feet. In fact… he didn’t even seem that pleased to see Geralt.

Geralt tilted his head slightly, “Jaskier?”

The bard squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his whole body shaking ever so slightly.

Geralt  _ wasn’t _ human. Every being he ever met liked to remind him of that. And even though he’d adapted to live  _ with  _ humans, it hadn’t helped him understand them. Monsters were simple, Mages were liars and conspirators, but humans? Geralt doubted he’d ever fully understand them, even with how many years he’ll be walking among them.

“Jaskier, what’s wrong?” Geralt asked quietly, suddenly completely out of his comfort zone.

But Jaskier only shook more, wrapping his arms around himself and sinking to the floor.

Geralt crouched next to him, just watching for a moment.

Finally, Geralt pulled Jaskier’s head into his shoulder and gently wrapped an arm around his friend.

Despite how uncomfortable it made him, Geralt remained like that until Jaskier stopped shaking. Comforting humans had never been something Geralt considered himself ‘good’ at, but Jaskier’s breathing returned to normal fairly quickly.

This time, when Geralt stood and pulled Jaskier to his feet, gently uttering ‘come on’, Jaskier let himself be moved. Geralt found himself leading Jaskier, one hand on the small of his back, the entire way to the inn the witcher was staying at, and the guilt was back tenfold.

The bard had never been so quiet for so long. Even when the Djinn took his voice, he’d still managed noises. His silence only put Geralt on edge, making his skin crawl and cementing that sinking feeling in his stomach. Geralt had been fighting that sinking feeling all day - that feeling was always followed by disaster and he refused to accept it was related to him running into Jaskier.

  
  


Geralt led Jaskier into his room, and gently guided him to sit on the bed. He then took the washbowl half-full of fresh water, and brought it to Jaskier’s side.

“Can I?” he asked, voice still low and unsure, as he motioned, with the cloth in his hand, to Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier nodded, still not meeting Geralt’s eyes or uttering a word.

Geralt let himself slip into a relaxing meditative-state, as he gently washed the blood and grime from Jaskier’s face. He worked slowly, gently and thoroughly, relaxing as Jaskier started looking more and more himself. By the time his face was clear, the water left in the bowl was a murky brown-red colour.

Geralt stood and put the bowl and cloth away, before returning to kneel in front of Jaskier. “Better?” he asked gently.

Jaskier nodded, slowly, sluggishly. He reached out a thin hand and squeezed Geralt’s hand gently.

Geralt guessed Jaskier was saying ‘thank you’. “Do you want to sleep a bit, Jaskier?” he asked gently, not moving his hand from Jaskier’s.

The bard nodded, before collapsing back in the bed.

Geralt moved to stand, and Jaskier’s grip tightened, his eyes wide with fear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

Jaskier didn’t take his eyes off Geralt, despite lying back like he was ready to sleep. His eyes remained wide open, unblinking and staring at Geralt.

Geralt reached up a hand, and brushed Jaskier’s fringe from his eyes. “Rest,” he grunted out lowly, pulling the thin blanket up over Jaskier’s body.

Eventually Jaskier’s eyes fell shut, exhaustion taking him.

Geralt took the opportunity to fully take in his old friend. His face was swollen on one side, where the thugs had punched him, but there were also signs of older wounds, bruises and a cut lip. Jaskier had always been on the slimmer side, but he looked starved now - his cheeks hollow, his fingers barely more than bone. His hair was dull, dirty and in dire need of a cut, whilst his clothes were in desperate need of a repair and wash. It wasn’t until then that Geralt noticed the bard was without his lute. Rare as it was, it was more distressing than anything…

Geralt found himself falling deep into thought; why was Jaskier here, of all places? Why were those thugs after him? Who did Jaskier owe money to? Why was he hiding in that corner in town? Where was his lute?

Geralt shook his head. Too many questions with no answers yet. He sighed deeply, turning to watch Jaskier sleep.

“Why is it that every time I bump into you something bad happens?” Geralt wondered aloud, absently tucking Jaskier’s hair behind his ear.

Geralt’s medallion hummed slightly, as Geralt’s finger brushed Jaskier’s neck. The witcher frowned, gently rolling Jaskier closer to him, to look at the back of his neck.

As Geralt moved his hair from the nape of his neck, his medallion vibrated stronger. On the back of Jaskier’s neck, just on the last knob of his spine, was what looked like a brand. Geralt recognised immediately it as a witch's seal, but he’d never encountered one burnt into someone’s skin before.

He searched through his saddle bags, finally finding a scrap of parchment and a semi-intact stick of charcoal. Geralt sketched out the seal, then did his best to break it down. It was a curse of the body, that was obvious enough, but he didn’t recognise the mage’s mark who made it, or the specifics of the curse. He tucked the parchment and charcoal back into his bags, and moved forward to press a finger to the edge of the crispy skin on Jaskier’s nape.

However, as Geralt’s finger came in contact with the seal, Jaskier jerked awake.

The bard flinched away from Geralt, pushing himself as far away from the witcher as he could get. His eyes were shiny with tears once again.

Geralt held up his hands, like he was calming Roach after she was spooked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Jaskier blinked a few times, looking around frantically, before realisation passed over his face, and he relaxed slightly. He just shook his head, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“You’ve been cursed,” Geralt said.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, his mouth moving, as if he were talking. Geralt could practically hear him saying ‘yes, thank you Geralt, I did realise that’ despite no noise leaving his mouth.

Geralt squinted, studying Jaskier. “Do you know who it was?” he asked gently.

Jaskier stared for a moment, before shaking his head hesitantly.

Something clicked, deep in Geralt’s mind. “Did they take your voice, Jaskier?” he asked, gently.

Jaskier froze, his lip quivering ever so slightly. He nodded, once, slowly.

Geralt felt his eyebrows knit together in sympathy. Jaskier’s whole personality was expressed through his voice. To have to live without it… it would be akin to Geralt losing his mutations.

Jaskier reached a hand up to his throat, rubbing it absently.

“Does it hurt?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier nodded, and once again opened his mouth, as if to say something, before snapping it shut again. He sighed heavily, dropping his hand to the bed.

“I’ll help you get your voice back, Jaskier,” Geralt uttered sincerely.

Jaskier’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. A smile hinting at the edges of his lips.

Geralt rolled his eyes, “don’t make me regret it,” he warned, though there was no menace behind it.

To be truthful, Geralt had decided he would help the moment he realised that the beggar across the street was no beggar, but rather his oldest friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a long while…  
> Gods, how he missed the peace of Kaer Morhen; the days Ciri and him had spent avoiding Vesemir’s steely gaze; the novice simplicity of life in the keep…  
> His eyes fell upon the sleeping man taking up his bed… Gods, how he missed Jaskier’s songs, he realised slowly. His chest twinged with something before unfelt, and it sent a little worry through his bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus this fic blew up... o.0
> 
> As requested by... _so_ many people, I've started continuing this!
> 
> In this chapter, we see more of Roach and Geralt's relationship, and I just want to apologise to anyone non-horsey, because I use a lot of equine mumbo-jumbo... And to my fellow equestrian's: I've had horses most of my life, and even have a few qualifications in looking after them, so I do actually know what I'm talking about, though I am English, and mostly only ride 'traditional' style.  
> I hope some of you love Roach as I do - that horse is damn brave, and puts up with so much shit!  
> (And, just for those who don't know; Roach isn't one horse, but rather what Geralt calls all his mares. In The Wild Hunt, Geralt is very old, so it's easy to assume that Roach isn't the first. I haven't confirmed how old Geralt is in the series yet, but I'd still waver that Roach wasn't his first Roach either).
> 
> Enjoy! :)

_ Perhaps ‘oldest friend’ was an exaggeration, _ Geralt thought sourly, as he was broken, yet again, from his meditation by Jaskier’s  _ snoring _ .

All the years they’d spent travelling and the bard had never once made a sound in his sleep; until  _ now _ .

A  _ week _ , Geralt had wasted, attempting to rid a town of a wraith - all because not one of the townsfolk was able to speak the truth - and he’d spent more paying for a room at the inn, than he’d earnt completing the blasted contract. Before  _ that _ , he’d been hired to destroy a nest of nekkers - in a particularly nasty swamp, that had tried to eat Roach - and the contract holder had had the nerve to try to weasel out of the full payment. It had been a  _ long _ while… 

_ Gods _ , how he missed the peace of Kaer Morhen; the days Ciri and him had spent avoiding Vesemir’s steely gaze; the novice simplicity of life in the keep…

His eyes fell upon the sleeping man taking up his bed…  _ Gods, how he missed Jaskier’s songs _ , he realised slowly. His chest twinged with something before unfelt, and it sent a little worry through his bones.

All scriptures of Witchers describe them as emotionless - some claiming the mutations make them like that. Whilst Geralt had known a number of Witchers without emotion (long,  _ long  _ years ago, when there were still Witchers being made), he knows they are not made to be emotionless.

Geralt swiftly got to his feet, making no noise. He wouldn’t be able to meditate - that much was clear - but he couldn’t sit there with a thumb up his ass.

He thought of Roach, tied outside in the mid-spring chill. “Might as well keep my hands busy,” he muttered to himself, pulling his saddle bags from the chair he’d hung them over, and resting them over his shoulder.

Heading towards the door, he paused by Jaskier - still snoring loudly, but sleeping soundly. Again, that feeling appeared in his chest, but much softer this time. Geralt reached out a hand to pull the blanket back up over Jaskier’s shoulder.

The snoring stopped, momentarily, as Geralt’s hand lay on Jaskier’s shoulder, but it resumed, just as loudly, when he removed it.

The corner of Geralt’s lip twitched, in an epic betrayal of every scripture of witchers, and, for once, he let it slide smoothly up, into a half-smile. There was no one to see him, after all, no reputation to keep intact.

Roach nickered loudly when Geralt strolled into view, stamping her hoof twice on the ground.

Geralt paused in his steps, “what’s that for? I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Roach nickered again and moved her rear to face Geralt.

Geralt sighed. “That’s just uncalled for,” he uttered, as he walked around her and came up to her shoulder. He patted her neck and got to work loosening all the straps of the saddle, eventually lifting it off her back entirely.

Once she was free of the saddle, she neighed softly, nudging Geralt with her nose.

Geralt smiled at her (the only being he would ever be caught dead smiling at) and rubbed her face softly, leaning his head towards hers. “I’m sorry. Next time I won’t keep you so long, okay?”

Roach blew air out of her nose, shifting her weight back ever so slightly, as if she were saying  _ ‘next time!?’ _

Geralt sighed heavily, turning to look her in the eye exasperatedly.

After a few moments of silence, Roach nickered again, headbutting Geralt harder this time.

“Fine,” he huffed, pressing a quick kiss to the white blaze that ran down her face. He moved away to pull her hoof pick from the saddle bags. He then gently raised each of her legs, and smoothly cleared the mud and a stone or two from her hooves.

As Geralt leant over the hitching post to pull her brush from the saddle bags, Roach mouthed at his hair absently, pulling some strands into her mouth.

Geralt grunted at her, gently pulling his hair from the dangerous caverns of her mouth, and jerked out of her reach. “Don’t be such a grumpy mare,” he muttered, as he ran the brush over her hair.

They spent hours like that; just talking idly, as Geralt brushed out the remains of their travels from her coat. ‘There’s an art to grooming your horse,’ Vesemir used to say, when he snatched the brush from young Geralt’s heavy hands, ‘the point is not just to get them clean, but to build a bond. You need your horse to trust you, as a Witcher, so you need to put in the time to build that trust with them.’

Geralt never forgot that advice. There had been many ‘Roach’s in Geralt’s long life, but the bond never wavered, for he put in the time with each of them.

...He always found horses made for better company, anyway.

Some time later, the last candle finally burnt out, leaving only the moon to light the street.

Geralt had put Roach’s brush away some time ago and now was gently brushing through her tail with his fingers. Roach’s head had dipped and her rear hoof was resting on it’s toe, in that way that they did when she was dozing off.

Geralt walked round to her shoulder, pressing up against her so she knew where he was. “Tired?” he asked lowly.

Roach’s only response was a slight ear twitch.

“Sleep well,” Geralt muttered, gently running his hand down her neck, “I’ll see you in a few hours.” He started back towards the inn, saddle and saddle bags in his arms.

Roach nickered a quiet ‘goodnight’ after him.

When Geralt re-entered his room, Jaskier was no longer in the bed. A jolt of something sharp shot through Geralt, before he heard Jaskier moving around behind the privacy screen.

Calmed slightly, Geralt kicked the door shut behind him, as he strode into his room; he set the saddle and saddle bags down, careful not to bend the leather the wrong way, then dropped himself into the one padded chair in the room, and started to remove his armour and boots. A Witcher’s armour was like a second skin after spending so many hours in it, but there was only so long one could wear it before it was just plain uncomfortable.

Jaskier shuffled out from behind the screen slowly, once again this small figure trying to make themselves smaller. But he relaxed back into him full height when he saw it was only Geralt that had entered the room. He continued to shuffle across the space between them, as if he were still unsure of himself.

Geralt didn’t look up as he undid the buckles and belts holding his armour to him, but he spoke softly, “I just went to check on Roach.. I wouldn’t leave you in the middle of the night like that.” He wasn’t entirely sure where it came from, but part of him needed the silence filled (the silence Jaskier would always fill…  _ before… _ ) and another part of him was yet again being punctured by slim daggers of guilt for leaving Jaskier alone for so long. What else was the bard supposed to think?  _ Stupid Witcher _ , a faceless voice uttered in Geralt’s mind. He pushed it aside; many people had called him many things, he wasn’t going to start listening to them now. His eyes searched out Jaskier’s face instead, relieved to see no remainder of fear in his expression.

Jaskier waved his hand, trying to casually brush Geralt’s concerns away.

But Geralt’s gaze bore into him, if not straight through him, and Jaskier dropped the act as quickly as he’d picked it up.

He nodded his thanks sheepishly, bouncing on his toes slightly.

Geralt finally peeled his armour off, slightly surprised when a second set of hands appeared to help him pull it from his shoulders. Geralt let Jaskier take the armour and lay it atop the saddle, an unfamiliar warmth lingering where Jaskier’s fingers had brushed his shoulders.

Geralt shook his head slightly, as if that would clear his thoughts. He took his silver blade from her sheath and pulled out a cloth to remove the worst of the stains along the blade. Another piece of advice from Vesemir: never let your sword rust.

The fact it was silver, and enchanted, and therefore would never rust wasn’t important. It was simply good maintenance to keep the blade and the inside of the sheath clean. Geralt had seen many bandits go to draw their sword, only to find it unmoving in the sheath - the bandits didn’t see much after that.

He worked the cloth over the sword in firm, practiced strokes. He’d properly maintain it later, when it was in more dire need of it and he wasn’t so tired. For now, a simple wipe-off would suffice.

Jaskier was leaning against the lone dresser in the room, just watching Geralt work at his sword. He seemed to relax as his eyes followed Geralt’s hand up and down the blade. 

Geralt frowned as he took in the clothes Jaskier was wearing - if you could call them  _ clothes _ , they were more like rags. His gaze drifted to Jaskier’s feet and yet another guilt-tipped dagger hit it’s target when Geralt saw his ‘shoes’ were merely rags wrapping his feet and ankles.

“First thing tomorrow, we get you some half-decent clothes,” Geralt thought aloud, his gaze falling back to his blade, as his hand worked faster over it, “there’s no point in you freezing to death before I get to kill the witch that cursed you.”

Jaskier’s hand on his arm, a second later, startled Geralt from his anger. The man’s eyes were soft, as he shook his head in a ‘no’.

Geralt’s eyebrows came together for the second time in half as many days. “No, what?”

Jaskier placed his hand atop Geralt’s, that was resting on his sword, and pushed the sword lower, shaking his head again.

Geralt was certain he was misunderstanding. “You  _ don’t _ want me to kill them?”

Jaskier nodded solemnly.

Geralt’s frown deepened. “They hurt you, Jaskier, they have to pay for that.”

Jaskier shook his head again, but it seemed to be to himself, rather than to Geralt.

Geralt let the subject be dropped - there was plenty of time for that later - and instead turned his hand upon his blade, encasing Jaskier’s palm in his. “For now,” he uttered, softly, gently, “let’s just get some rest.”

Geralt hadn’t expected company, so he’d rented a room with only one small bed - but it was hardly the first time the pair had shared a bed.

Which is why Geralt was confused when Jaskier pulled away.

The exhaustion was creeping up on Geralt, as it often did when he completed his pre-sleep ritual of removing his armour and cleaning his sword, and he hadn’t the energy to attempt another conversation with Jaskier - not right that minute, anyway. “Look, there’s only one bed,” he huffed, facing Jaskier, “I need sleep and you need sleep, okay? We can…  _ talk _ all you want tomorrow, but right now I need some rest.”

Jaskier peered up at Geralt for a moment, before shrugging one shoulder.

Geralt took that as permission to continue and pulled Jaskier onto the bed after him.

It really was a small bed; but that had nothing to do with the way the Witcher pulled the bard into his side.

“You snore,” Geralt mumbled, as an explanation. “You stop when I’m near. So deal with it.”

Although…  _ that  _ had nothing to do with it either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have to take this moment to say something; thank you. To everyone who's read this, everyone who's commented, just everyone. Thank you so, so much!
> 
> Please continue to comment, you have no idea how much it helps me to keep my motivation up to continue the story!  
> If you enjoy my writing, I'd love it if you would consider having a look at some of my other works - I need a kick up the ass to continue them too!
> 
> I really hope that this fic meets everyone's hopes, and please do go check out my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/excaliburinthelakeonpage394) and pop me a message if you're desperate for some more of this fic!!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short one-shot I wrote to fill out a prompt from tumblr. I'm not sure if I'm going to write any more than I have, so if you have any ideas feel free to let me know!!
> 
> I've spent most of my christmas writing, so as soon as I actually type it up there should be some more content on this dead-ass account...  
> ...Sorry about that, by the way.


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